


Five Times Scott Knew He Loved Stiles (And One Time Stiles Knew He Loved Him Too)

by Everyday_Im_Narrating



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Sciles, a fluffload of fluff, but that's no surprise, pardon my dumb puns, so many feels, stiles' momma dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Narrating/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Narrating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glimpses of Scott and Stiles' journey through life together, as best friends, as something else, as everything in between.</p>
<p>(Mostly friendship. Sciles if you squint just a little.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Scott Knew He Loved Stiles (And One Time Stiles Knew He Loved Him Too)

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been wanting to write something Sciles since forever, and only now got really inspired by a certain roleplayer (who doesn't have an AO3 account yet, but SARAH, THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, GIRL). Could be continued, I don't know. I just needed the Sciles feels. Fits canon until the season 2 finale.

The first time Scott knew he loved Stiles, they were seven years old.

The matching tuxedoes were itchy and uncomfortable, and Stiles kept complaining that his tie was too tight and made him look dumb - to which Scott laughed and agreed, even as his mom gave him a warning look. But it was Aunt Catherine and Uncle Nathan's wedding, and Scott was pretty sure he loved them both; Aunt Catherine was like his third favorite family member, and Uncle Nathan made the best chocolate cookies in all of ever. So when they said he could take Stiles to the wedding so he wouldn't be bored, as long as they both wore those dumb tuxedoes, he thought it was a pretty good deal.

The grownups were dancing to some music he didn't recognize, and Stiles was having none of it, wiggling around in his chair and tugging on Scott's arm impatiently.

"Let's do something! I'm so bored."

"Let's play wedding!" Scott grinned, making his friend laugh.

"You and me?"

"There's no girls here. Just the grownups and a baby."

Stiles scrunched his nose, thinking for a moment.

"I don't like girls anyway, they're weird and they scream in the playground."

"Stiles, _you_ scream in the playground."

"Only when I'm playing _with the girls_." He answered like it was obvious, then grabbed Scott's wrist to drag him somewhere to play, effectively ending that conversation.

They grabbed a few flowers from a nearby arrangement and eventually found two empty tables with a decent space between them for their pretend-aisle. After a brief discussion of the _who gets to be the bride_ variety, Stiles waited at the end of their aisle and Scott walked slowly between the tables with the flowers in his hand, trying to make a serious face.

"Now we gotta say stuff, right?"

"What kinda stuff?"

"Aunt Catherine says you're s'posed to say what you like about the person."

They stood for a moment, thinking; Scott tossed the flowers to the floor and grabbed his best friend's hands like he'd seen his aunt and uncle do.

"I like how you always share your lunch."

"I like that you helped me lie to Mom about that fancy plate I broke."

"I like the stuff you build with Legos."

"I like... Your face!"

Stiles let go of one of Scott's hand to smack his forehead lightly, sending them both into a fit of giggles.

“We don't have to kiss, right?"

"Ew, no!"

"Cool, so we're married now?"

"Yeah, let's tell Mom!"

Scott knew that people got married because they loved each other. So if he married Stiles, that must mean he loved him, and the thought made him smile.

\---

That day, Scott's mom didn't make a big deal of him marrying his best friend, but after Mom left the table and he mentioned it to Grandma, she was mad. She told him to stop saying things like that when he didn't know what they meant, and then went on a long rant about God and family and right and wrong, and Scott just stood there and listened with wide eyes, not understanding most of what she said but knowing he did something wrong. She said she wouldn't watch her grandson become a "fag", and the small word felt heavy and bitter on his tongue as he repeated it, not knowing its meaning. Stiles stood dutifully by his side and listened attentively, not daring to hold his hand when he started sniffling even though it felt almost unnatural - when Scott was crying, Stiles held his hand; that was just the way things worked.

It took a big, tight hug from Mom to calm him down, and he tried to pretend he didn't see Mom and Grandma arguing when Stiles dragged him away from the table.

That night, when Mom tucked the boys in, there was a heavy feeling of guilt in Scott's throat when he saw she was still upset. He looked at Stiles, hoping he'd know what to do, but Stiles' eyes were as wide and confused as his, and the boy just shrugged.

"Mom, I'm sorry we got married tonight." He pouted, bottom lip trembling.

"Yeah, we didn't know we couldn't." Stiles added.

Mom sighed loudly and ruffled their hair, one with each hand, then pressed a tender goodnight kiss to each of their foreheads.

"Don't be sorry, you boys did nothing wrong. Grandma's just... She sees things differently."

"Why was she mad?" Stiles asked.

"Because some people hate the things they don't understand, and I love my mother, but God help her, she's one of those people."

Scott didn't understand too well, but was too upset and sleepy to ask anything else. With Stiles' hand held tightly in his under the blanket, he fell asleep in just a few seconds.

\---

The second time Scott knew he loved Stiles, it was a sad day, and they were ten.

Stiles' mom had been sick for a long time, and Scott's heart broke to see how sad it made his friend. Sometimes Stiles talked about the possibility of her dying, and he'd always end up sniffling against Scott's shoulder, but now it had actually happened and Stiles was inconsolable, clinging to his Dad's neck and crying hard until it looked like he was going to be sick. His eyes were puffy and red and his face was all snotty when the people in uniforms lowered Mrs Stilinski's casket into the ground, and Scott cried too. Partly because the idea of never seeing his friend's mom smile her sweet smile or sing along with the radio in the car again made him much sadder than he thought he'd be, and partly because if he was feeling that bad, he couldn't imagine how much his best friend was suffering.

After the funeral, Stiles' dad asked him if he wanted to come over for lunch, and he promptly accepted. Later, his mom would tell him that the Sheriff was hoping it would cheer up Stiles a little bit, but Scott felt completely powerless when his usually chatty friend couldn't keep the conversation going, and he eventually just gave up.

Lunch was silent. The Sheriff ate a lot more than his usual, seemingly wanting to make the sadness go away with canned peas and chicken nuggets. Stiles, on the other hand, took two bites of his nuggets and left the rest of the plate untouched, staring at it blankly. Scott wasn't too hungry, but he ate most of what the Sheriff had put in his plate, knowing the last thing his friend's father needed was to worry about another kid. He couldn't really help, but he was making valiant attempts at not making anything more complicated than it had to be.

The three of them ended up on the couch, watching Finding Nemo while Stiles sniffled quietly, tucked against his dad's side with his hand between both of Scott's.

Stiles was taller than Scott, but that day he looked small, broken. Scott swallowed back a new lump in his throat and wiped away the tears quickly, this time not crying because he already missed Mrs Stilinski, but because he wanted nothing more than to make his best friend stop hurting, and there was nothing he could do but hold his hand and hope it helped.

That evening, when he voiced those feelings to his mom, she told him that was how she'd felt when Scott's dad left, back when he was five. Scott hugged her tight and didn't let go until it was time for dinner.

\---

They were a little past the age where it was considered appropriate for two boys to share the bed at a sleepover, but none of them cared even a little bit. Scott's mom or the Sheriff would set up a mattress when one of the boys slept over at the other's house, and usually they would begin the night like that - one on the mattress, the other on the bed - but most of the time it didn't last until the morning. Sometimes one of them had a nightmare and ended up spending the rest of the night tucked safely against the other's chest. Sometimes it was really just a case of getting up at 3AM to pee and completely forgetting about the existence of the mattress on the way back. Sometimes - and this was Scott's personal favorite - they would stay up so late talking and laughing and arguing about stupid things, the conversation would evolve into slurry half-words, and they were asleep before either one had the energy to move to the mattress.

Stiles grew taller, skinny and gangly, his face never really outgrowing the doe eyes and long lashes that Scott wouldn't admit he liked so much. He was always the first to discover things - things like the fact that Lydia Martin was wearing a training bra _and you can totally see the outline under her shirt, look, look_ ; or the fact that you could do a quick search online and see naked people (and be a little grossed out but not willing to admit it); or the fact that kissing sounded pretty awesome but none of them had any idea how to do it.

Scott's voice was the first to start cracking and lowering in pitch, and Stiles mocked him endlessly for it. In return, Scott made fun of his best friend's still mostly hairless chest and stomach, and if Stiles was actually self-conscious about it, he never let it show.

\---

The third time Scott knew he loved Stiles, they were in junior high.

It was Jackson Whittemore's fourteenth birthday, and along with a bunch of people from school and his three older cousins, Jackson had invited the whole lacrosse team. The party was surprisingly laid back, with plenty of pizza and soda and the very few beers the older Whittemores had dug out of the back of the pantry; apparently, that little bit of beer was enough to make everyone - even the ones that Scott knew hadn't had a single sip - act a little weird, and a little stupid, and Scott decided he liked that.

There were only six girls and four boys left at the party when Lydia suggested playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, and the ones who didn't want to play still agreed anyway because it was easier than arguing with her.

Lydia insisted to be the first to pick a person to go inside, and since it was pretty much implied that she called the shots in any situation, they let her. Each of them knew a slightly different version of how to play the game, but after much discussion, everyone but her ended up blindfolded; after about five minutes of biting his lip nervously and hoping he’d be picked and hoping he wouldn’t at the same time, Scott felt Lydia's hand lay firmly on his shoulder. Scott's heart was racing as she guided him quietly to Mrs Whittemore's walk-in closet. What if they sent him in with someone who hated him? What if he sucked at kissing? What if _the girl_ sucked at kissing? How would he even know? How would he even find her in the closet he knew was huge? Oh, damn, what if he tripped and fell trying to find her?

_What if it was a dude?_

After a little bit of awkwardly patting surfaces to try and find the person he was supposed to be _doing things_ with - how far was this even supposed to go? - Scott's fingers finally found what he recognized as someone's sweater. And underneath the sweater, unmistakably, a person. Okay, there was definitely a person in there with him, and he heard a sharp intake of breath once his hand made contact with the clothed shoulder.

Talking wasn't allowed in the game, although he heard the giggles from outside the closet and knew everyone was listening intently; Scott let his hands trail gently over the other's shoulders and neck, trying to get a sense of who it was. The person was taller than him, with somewhat broad shoulders; he slipped his hand up the back of their neck and _yep, definitely a dude_. None of the girls had hair this short. Yes, Lydia had thrown him in the closet with a guy. A guy he was supposed to be _making out with_. The thought should weird him out more than it did, but Scott found himself more curious than anything else.

The boy was definitely not Stiles - too still, too rigid, and Stiles wasn't wearing a sweater anyway - and Scott couldn't tell much else; he kept lightly tracing the outlines of the guy he was about to have his very first kiss with, but only noticed that he had gel in his hair, at the front, and that his heart was beating so hard, Scott could feel it with a palm pressed to his chest even through the fabric. Good to know he wasn't the only nervous one.

Finally, after much stalling, Scott kept his palm firmly resting on the boy's chest and leaned in, taking a deep, calming breath before their lips met in a very hesitant kiss.

It felt good, for about a minute. Whoever it was, he must have been at least as nervous as Scott was, because the kiss never went past the slow, soft, unsure stage. He didn't mind; it was tingly and electric and exciting to finally have his first kiss, even more because he didn’t even know who it was. What he did mind, however, was that when the guy's hands grabbed onto his hips and pulled him closer so their bodies were pressed together, he immediately froze and stopped kissing back.

Confused, Scott pulled back a little to yank off his blindfold, and as luck would have it, there was Jackson Whittemore, wide-eyed and looking a very strange combination of scared and pissed off.

For a lingering, terrifying moment, Scott legitimately thought he’d be getting the crap beat out of him right there in the closet. He was sure he muttered something – an apology? What would he even be apologizing for? – but if Jackson heard it, he didn’t acknowledge it, just opened the door and bolted straight out to the garden.

Scott stayed there, torn between going to help him or getting back to the party or _something._ What was he supposed to do?

He ended up not needing to make that choice by himself, because among the giggling teenagers that waited outside the closet, Stiles was serious and very slightly pouting.

“You kissed him?” He asked, barely above a whisper, so nobody else could hear. They were staring, sure, but soon Lydia was demanding everyone else get their blindfolds back on, and thankfully left Stiles and Scott to their conversation.

“I didn’t even know it was Jackson! Why are you all pouty, anyway?”

“Cause.” Stiles looked down at his own feet, shifting his weight from one leg to another with blushing cheeks. “You promised that if you ever wanted to kiss a dude, I’d be the dude.”

Scott apologized twice that night, and while Stiles reassured him it was okay, the soft little pout never really left the boy’s face. Not until the Sheriff came to pick them both up, and right as they were pulling up by Scott’s house, he leaned in and stole a quick, barely-there kiss from his best friend’s lips.

It lasted about two seconds, but Scott wished he hadn’t kissed Jackson just so he could count this kiss as his first. He decided he was going to count it as his first anyway, convincing himself that Jackson was just the tutorial.

\---

They didn’t talk about the kiss. There was no need.

They did, however, share quite a few more after that.

Scott didn’t think of it as something romantic, or even sexual. It was just something they liked to do – more affectionate than they got with any other friend, of course, and they certainly knew the implications it _could_ have, but to them it was natural, soothing and exciting at the same time, and it made Scott’s head spin a little and stop thinking for a good while. Stiles’ lips were soft and sweet, and even when he started kissing girls at parties now and then, it was… Different, and not just because of gender. With the girls it was new and exciting and sometimes hands wandered, promised things he didn’t think any of them were quite ready for just yet, but it was fun to think about, to expect. With Stiles, it was comfortable, safe, _home._ There was no questioning of intentions and no pressure, just the two of them, as it always had been.

Once, Mom caught them kissing, and instead of being pissed like he assumed she probably would be, she just shook her head and mumbled that she owed the Sheriff twenty dollars. Both she and the boys laughed, and although the new ‘door remains open at all times when Stiles is over’ rule was stipulated, they didn’t really mind.

It was a little harder to explain to her that no, they weren’t together. Scott was never entirely sure she believed it, anyway.

\---

The fourth time Scott knew he loved Stiles, they were sixteen.

Scott had just come back from a fantastic date with Allison, smiling from ear to ear as they both leaned against the hood of Stiles’ Jeep. It was parked right outside the Stilinski house, but it was a scorching hot day, and even when the sunlight was gone the temperature didn’t really go down. The fresh air and cold sodas were a great setting to end a good evening, and they had been talking long enough that the subject of Allison and everything about her had already made way for whatever came to their minds.

Still, even with the seemingly random flow of the conversation, Stiles’ comment caught Scott off guard.

“Hey, remember we used to make out now and then?”

The question must have been rhetorical. He had no idea where Stiles was going with this, but nodded, knowing his friend would keep talking without needing the verbal confirmation.

“Is Allison better? I mean, I’m not like- I’m not like jealous or anything. I just wanna know. Humor me.” He blurted out the entire sentence looking straight at the grass below them, and that was a good thing, too, because Scott’s jaw dropped. Because the question was unexpected, because Stiles might feel something for him that he didn’t know about, but mostly, because he was having a hard time coming up with an answer.

“It’s…”

“Don’t say ‘different’. Scott, if you have any respect for our friendship, do not say ‘different’. That’s the word you use when you wanna say ‘totally better’ but don’t wanna hurt the other person’s feelings.”

“No, it’s the word you use when you wanna say ‘not the same but equally good in two very different ways’.” He mumbled, sighing as he glanced over at Stiles. “How come you’re asking this all of a sudden?”

Stiles downed the rest of his soda in one gulp, and Scott was expecting an answer after he was finished, but got none. Instead, what he got was Stiles hiding his eyes behind his palm, huffing out a heavy breath, and still nothing.

The silence between them wasn’t their usual, comfortable kind, it was the kind that stung.

“Stiles?” Scott urged, trying to convey in his name what he couldn’t really say with words without sounding pathetic. _I need you to tell me what’s going on or I’ll freak out. I don’t care if we end up fighting, just tell me, goddammit._

His voice came out unsure, unusually quiet.

“I just need to know I wasn’t a placeholder.”

“What do you mean?”

Stiles threw his hands up in frustration, and Scott just watched, not knowing how to react to the sudden outburst.

“A placeholder, Scott! ‘Cause I – I get it, okay. I get that we weren’t gonna keep fooling around as friends forever, and eventually someone was gonna come along and you were gonna fall in love, and I get it. But guess who’s left here alone, watching someone make you happy in every way that _I_ make you happy, _plus that_ , and I can’t- I can’t stop thinking that – that you – fuck damn it, I can’t with the words today.”

Scott tried to lay a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his head spinning with all the new information, but Stiles shook it off in a way he only ever did after a particularly bad panic attack. It hurt more than it probably should have, but Scott kept his distance.

“You’re saying you miss it?”

“I’m saying I need to know you were fooling around with me because it felt nice _with me,_ not because you didn’t have anything better and I was just… There.”

The words hit hard. So that was what this was all about – Stiles was… Insecure? About what he meant to Scott? Damn it, they’d been pretty much the only constant in each other’s lives for thirteen years now. Wasn’t that enough? Scott wasn’t used to saying the words, the actual three words, to anyone except his mom. And Allison. Damn it, he’d said it to Allison more times in the past few months than he’d said them to Stiles their whole lives, and he couldn’t deny there was something fundamentally wrong about that.

Stiles must have mistaken his stunned silence for confirmation, because he was pushing himself off the hood of the Jeep almost violently and stomping towards the house.

“Stiles, wait! That wasn’t an answer, I was just-“

“Thinking about the nicest way to say I was exactly that? Or coming up with a lie? Because honestly, I shouldn’t have asked. Either option’s just gonna make me feel shittier anyway.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

And just like that, he was disappearing through the front door, and Scott felt himself transported back to when they were ten and he watched helplessly as a recently orphaned Stiles cried on his father’s shoulder. Again, his best friend was hurting, and again, there was nothing he could do – not because the situation was far too heavy for a couple of ten-year-olds to handle, but because he was _causing_ that hurt, and it felt like he’d just been punched in the gut.

He’d find a way to make it better. He had to.

Scott awoke at 3:28AM with a single buzz from his phone.

_Please forget I said anything. -SS_

Sighing, he took a moment to decide on what to text back.

_Kinda can’t. -SM_

_Let’s not talk about it ever again, okay? -SS_

_If that’s what you want. -SM_

_Sorry. -SS_

_Don’t be. -SM_

_Night. -SS_

He typed the words, all three of them, but couldn’t bring himself to press send. It sounded cheap in a fight. Shutting his eyes tight, Scott tucked the phone back under the pillow and tried to fall back asleep.

\---

The next two weeks were awkward. And uncomfortable. And even though they tried to be the same as they’d always been, there was something dark and heavy hovering above them, around them, between them. It wanted to swallow Scott whole, and would have if he’d let it.

Their spoken words were scarce and empty and superficial, and Scott hated it, hated how his best friend seemed distant and upset and _wrong._ It hit him deep, and he would have gone crazy, honest-to-God batshit, if it weren’t for the texts.

They came at random times, but they came, and they meant he still cared.

_Practice tonight. Don't forget. -SS_

_Watch out for Harris, he’s being extra dickish today. –SS_

_You can copy my Chem homework if you want. –SS_

Scott always answered, followed by silence. Always silence. He didn’t know how much more he could take of this.

\---

Stiles knew he loved Scott at 4:43AM on a Thursday night.

_Need you. –SM_

_What happened? –SS_

_Need you. –SM_

_Coming. –SS_

He climbed into Scott’s bedroom through the window, like he usually did when the parents were asleep, and found him curled up in his bed. Scott wasn’t crying, but it looked like he had been, and his whole body was shaking under the blanket. Stiles knew it wasn’t from the cold, would have known even if it weren’t still summer.

Stiles didn’t hesitate. In a moment his shoes were off, and he was climbing under the sheets with his best friend, and Scott was clinging to him so tight it hurt. He didn’t mind, only held him just as close, and the next half hour was a litany of _I got you_ and _what’s wrong_ and _please come back_ and _I never left_ and _I’m sorry_ and _I love you, I love you, I love you._ It was hushed reassurances and soft apologies, and Stiles’ lips pressing to his temples, his cheeks, his forehead, in a timid attempt to soothe. It was Scott finally falling asleep cradled against him, Stiles’ thumb drawing slow circles at the small of his back, and their world finally, _finally_ coming back to its axis as they drifted off together.

Before he left the house in the morning, Stiles jotted down a note.

_Had to get my backpack and put some clothes on. Pick you up in a bit._

_I love you too, doofus._

\---

The fifth time Scott knew he loved Stiles...

“You know what I just realized? I’m right back where I started.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no lacrosse, no popularity, no girlfriend… Nothing.”

“Dude, you still got me.”

“I had you before.”

“Yeah, and you still got me. Okay? So life fulfilled.”

“Very.”

And as long as that continued to be true, they could face anything that came their way.


End file.
